Ashley Madison Has Ruined Me For Real World Dating

Things are done differently with single folk, aren’t they?

S-e-x.

When you’re on Ashley Madison (AM) you’re looking for one thing. It’s not a ring – unless cock rings count. It’s not a commitment – unless that definition includes your signed agreement to pay your Mastercard charges for hotel stays. So for those who are naive or uninformed, I’ll spell it out again bright and clear.

S-e-x.

So imagine when you decide that it might be nice to try a relationship with someone who isn’t hiding a ring next to the photos of their kids. Why not skip away from AM and try other, more traditional dating sites once again? Sure, you recall the disastrous attempts a year or so ago, but aren’t we always taught to be resilient, persevere, and never f*ckin’ give up?

Holy King-sized sheets.

Staring at profiles emotional enough to rival the ornate wood panel meets ocean scene in Titanic, you blubber. You’re really not sure if the tears stream due to disgust or because a chasm of cardiac ice has melted. Either way, you quickly recall that things are done differently on these types of dating sites.

There’s no mention of giving head in the backseat of an Audi. These single folk want connection. Jazz concerts. Thanksgiving with their racist Uncle Norm. A special bathroom bucket for your spare toothbrush, hair gel, and Nair — at their house. Holy King-sized sheets. Your head suddenly twists Exorcist-style into a new mindset.

“What do I need to know?” you ask the universe – otherwise known as a dating expert friend who has exhausted too many hours and too many credits online dating. “What might I have forgotten about dating?”

“Welllll,” her southern drawl lisps out of a mouth containing more lipstick than the MAC factory. Her innocent eyes widen. “Darlin’, you definitely need to stop aiming to reclaim the terms Slut and Whore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Your horndog self will ask. “That I need to stop riding the flagpole fifteen minutes after pleasantries have been exchanged?”

“That’s right, Girlfriend,” she states between gum smacks. “Naked twerk all you want. Eventually. But for now, you have to TALK to them. Sit across from them. Keep your tongue between your lips. Can you actually do that?”

“Well, of course, but isn’t that kind of boring?” You might ask. “Just an eensy, weensy bit snooze-provoking?”

“It’s how the world outside of AM works, honey. You’re looking to find a man who will sleep with you. As in fall asleep snuggling against you even when he realizes your armpit hair is longer than your bed head. You want love and commitment on these sites, Babygirl. Not just sweaty sex with someone whose spouse refuses to touch their pecker.”

Cripeys. How the hell am I going to do this?

The myth

Chatting with AM suitors ricocheted from “Hey” to fantasies and favorite positions faster than you can slide left on Tinder. On traditional dating sites, I assumed I could bake all my Christmas cookies and grow out my pubic hair between “hi” and when the subject of sex was broached.

“That will be a good thing,” asserted my dating guru friend. “Refreshing, even. Not everything has to be about sex, darlin’!”

When you’re accustomed to immediate sex chatter this other version seems so staid and puritanical. You begin wondering when the townsfolk will arrive and start chucking rotten cabbage at you and the giant scarlet A on your bosom.

The reality

But here is what actually happened.

Dude #1

His smile looked promising — a little more mischievous than altar boy. So I messaged him back. A quick-witted intro with back-and-forths speedier than Venus and Serena on clay, we arranged a meeting a couple of days later. But not before, mid-conversation, he messaged, “what’s your favorite position?”.

“Whoa,” I responded. “A little too soon?”

“Okay, yep. I’ll behave.”

In the coffee shop lineup, he smiled sweetly and asked get-to-know-me questions. He placed my order and paid for the peppermint tea I had chosen because I had already tampered nervousness through about six massive mugs of coffee at home that morning. I waffled with lack of chemistry and how soon to say goodbye.

“So,” he chimed, as we lowered our buttocks onto ball-flattening benches. “I think you’re cute. Wanna go back to my place and fuck?”

WTH? Strike one against my theory that traditional dating sites are less sex-centric. I’m just going to leave and go home now, thanks.

Dude #2

Although fireworks didn’t light up my labia when spying his pics, I contemplated the idea that photos don’t show tone, voice, energy, genuine smiles, or chemistry. I crossed my fingers that his brain was bigger than his profile description and I responded to his message. A couple of conventional pleasantries dinged between us. And then.

“How do you like an assertive, confident man who wants to slam it into you?” was his third message.

“Can I eat shortbread cookies off your ass in doggie style so we both win?” was his fourth. I know it’s Christmastime, Dude, and shortbread-a-plenty wills itself from trays and into my mouth. But still.

WTH? Strike two against my theory that men wanting hand-holding during sunsets won’t chat about blowjobs and anal licks. I’m just going to leave this conversation now, thanks.

So I realize there are generally three strikes but this isn’t baseball — and I’ve only connected with two people so far.

On AM, having willing and wet labia is a plus. It seems that on traditional sites, being close to 50 and openly admitting to my situation of having a spouse with Alzheimer’s, means that my vulva is not such a hot commodity.

What I’ve learned from both

It may be “early times” on more traditional sites but I’ve learned something from both dating venues. My number lesson from both is that getting to the point is crucial. I wish I had known this well before marrying someone who didn’t discover he was asexual until our wedding night. Alas, this half-century-old chick is having it hammered into her head — and sometimes other parts.

Do I need to go for coffee with someone who sends cringey vibes from my occipital lobe to the base of my spine? Nope. Does etiquette require eighteen “so sorry but you’re not who I am looking for” messages? Uh uh. Is it customary to respond with anything but silence after some horny relationship-seeker dreams of eating cookies off my asscheeks? Who cares.

Maybe, though, AM didn’t completely ruin me. Perhaps it even made me and my approach better? After all, aren’t I mainly seeking S-e-x?

©Jennifer J. McDougall 2021